


The Shape of Stones

by laconicisms



Category: Hikaru no Go
Genre: 5000-10000 Words, Abduction, Gen, General, POV Minor Character, Present Tense, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-31
Updated: 2009-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-05 13:05:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laconicisms/pseuds/laconicisms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The ransom is paid, Akira should be back home, but things don't go as planned. There is only one thing left to do: playing a last and desperate hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Shape of Stones

**Author's Note:**

> Blind-go round 3 entry. A lot of thanks goes to ai-ling, who beta-ed. Any mistakes you find in here are mine.

* * *

 

_ Playing a desperate hand can mean the difference between a great victory and a great loss. And this loss would be great indeed.   
_

 

* * *

  
The bamboo cane bops down and up again, filled with water, empty of water, getting too heavy, getting too light, bopping down again and up, endlessly. Kouyo watches, seeing the water flow, seeing nothing.

Watch. Watch. Watch. Up, down; empty, full.

It's a mockery, he thinks, and wishes the water would stop flowing or, better yet, flow backwards.

"We're doing everything in our power."

_But will it be enough?_

Light, heavy, light, heavy; crushing. Breathing is an onerous task. He turns around, picks up the photograph again.

"You must follow our directions." He does.

Another day goes by. They are following the detective's instructions: _continue your life as you would were nothing wrong, make up excuses, say he is ill, do not tell anyone what is going on._

_Do nothing to upset the kidnappers. Pay the ransom. _That part, funnily enough, is easiest. He clenches his hand.

How can he pretend that nothing is wrong, when his chest feels tight (he does not tell his wife, she would worry, since he's already had a heart attack once, and this is not the same kind of pain in any case) and every passing second increases the weight resting on his shoulders?

How can he lie, how can he _keep up_ the lies, when Ogata throws suspicious glances his way and Shindou has stopped by twice already, first for a scheduled meeting, then the next day again, bearing a get-well card and a special health tea and asking if maybe Touya is well enough to play net-Go at least?

It's no use telling the police that sickness is not good enough an excuse. Akira, like his father, would continue playing Go even on his deathbed. Everyone knows this and it is only because they know Kouyo to be an honest man that most of them don't question him, preferring to believe the unbelievable instead. It should make him feel something, he thinks, but every emotion becomes buried under worry and fear.

Shindou, of course, knows that Kouyo would lie – or omit the truth at least –, but he chooses to trust him anyway; or maybe he just plays along, not questioning him.

Ogata simply has always been too smart and cynical for his own good.

Neither of them is very patient, however, and Kouyo is sure that it is only a matter of time before one of them will confront him. Yet, despite Ogata's brashness and lack of tact, Kouyo thinks Shindou will be the first.

Still he hopes it won't come that far. By this time tomorrow, all of this should be over. The money paid, Akira back home, and the kidnappers caught – or not; he doesn't particularly care about that right now. He wants justice, of course, but more, much more than that he wants his son back, alive and well.

_He looks cold, in the picture. _

His gaze slides over his son's features again, noting the determined expression, noting the blood on his temple.

_His eyes … they are challenging. _

He lets his gaze travel further down, staring at the portable Go set in Akira's lap.

Even in this situation… but it's just as unsurprising now as it was when he first saw the photograph that had been delivered to his doorstep two nights ago.

Unseen, unheard, unnoticed. The detective has been trying to look confident, but the kidnappers have left very little clues; certainly not enough to catch them before the ransom is due.

_Have the money ready by October 21st. You will receive further instruction then. _

He has the money, and now they are waiting for a phone call or another note. It's late in the evening already.

_What is taking them so long? _

He directs the question at the photograph, but there is no answer to be found there. And Akira is still looking cold.

A hand touches his arm. He raises his head and his wife's eyes lock onto his, red rims and dark shadows prominent.

"Soon," she says and he nods and prays that she is right. His free hand grasps hers and together they turn around to watch the bamboo cane. The water is flowing as steadily as ever and hardly fast enough.

* * *

"If he's involved in this, you should let the police handle it." The tone borders on exasperation and more than anything it implies that the detective is only humouring him. He grinds his teeth together.

"I didn't say he was involved. I said–"

"If he's not involved, there's no reason to question him, Mr. Touya."

Kouyo glares at the detective, barely keeping in a snarl. It has been twenty-four hours since he left a sports bag filled with money in a dead-end alley. At least twenty-three hours since the police found the bag empty, no trace of the kidnappers, and no idea how this could have happened. Twenty-two hours since they finally figured it out, but too late to change things. The ransom is paid and Akira is still not back and there has been no new communication, _nothing at all_.

"We are investigating in every direction," the detective assures him, then excuses himself abruptly and leaves. Kouyo stares at the window for a while, seeing the room, the open door reflected in the glass. Darkness has fallen once more, another day gone by. Too much time has passed already.

Kouyo sighs, sinks back onto the sofa, more tired than he has been in years. He and his wife have just returned from a press conference, telling the reporters about what happened, asking the public for help, begging the kidnappers to set their son free.

The detective said it would be a good idea, that this way they would find him faster. His voice was confident, his manner reassuring. Kouyo has seen and participated in enough matches to be able to look through such a façade. It's a game to them, he thinks, and is angry even though he knows it's irrational. It may be a game to the kidnappers but not to the police. Still, the impression stays with him.

In this game – he can't keep himself from spinning the thought further – the kidnappers made the first move and they had control of the board from the start. They played and tried to control his moves, but he countered with a hand they didn't want him to play. He alerted the police.

They must have been prepared for that, he's sure. One needn't read to deep for it. But he hadn't seen it, hadn't seen their safety precautions, because he couldn't see all of their moves.

It's like a game where he only sees every third stone or so placed. He hadn't known how to counter.

And he hadn't actually countered; he'd given over to a more experienced player, the police; and they too had placed stones he couldn't see.

He had lost track of the game and when he next saw the moves, it became obvious that the police had been out-manoeuvred. The kidnappers had called and had given them very little time to react. The police had placed a trap, but it was shoddy for lack of time and the kidnappers had easily found a way out. They had used the sewers; and Kouyo thinks that the police should have been ready for that, though he isn't sure that he would have been.

And now the police have told them to turn to the public and it feels like a last desperate hand in a game where half of your stones are dead.

The detective has advised them to reveal that Akira had been kidnapped but to keep the details secret. There is a strategy behind this, of course, but Kouyo wonders if it might not backfire.

Then again, contacting Shindou would be just as desperate a move, even though the police have looked into that angle before, asking him if there might not be a clue in there. Why else would Akira hold a portable Go board if not to send a message, hide it in the shape of the stones?

Why indeed. He hadn't seen it back then, however. The police had asked if he saw an incorrectly placed stone or any other rule infraction that might give them a hint, might spell out a word if removed. There isn't much opportunity for that in Go, though; which, of course, clearly shows that no one in the detective's team knows a thing about Go.

Kouyo frowns at the doorway and pulls at his clothes. They feel restricting as if they have shrunk in the washing machine. He folds his hands, trying to keep them still.

And yet … even if he had thought about who the style reminded him of, even if he had told them, the police might have written it off then, too.

Like they are doing now.

The detective doesn't believe that a Go pro can tell who is playing just by looking at a half-finished game; but they can, because the Go style of an experienced player is just as unique as someone's handwriting.

_In any case, he thinks I'm a Go obsessed lunatic, grasping at straws. _

Admittedly, it is a long stretch. Akira might have replayed a game with Shindou randomly when the photo was taken. Even if he didn't, Shindou might not be able to interpret the clue either; after all, they had played so many games. He might not recall anything special or peculiar about this one.

_But maybe he will. _

Maybe he would say "yes, I remember that game" and "we ran into each other at Shinjuku subway station that day" and "there were these weird people staring at us" and ….

… and that would be a very vague clue in any case.

Then again, what could be so bad about showing the photograph to Hikaru Shindou? The detective suggested that, if anything, it's supposed to say that Shindou has a hand in the kidnapping, but that is ridiculous. Kouyo is sure that the boy would never be involved in something like this.

Either Shindou will know or remember something, or he won't. If he does, they have a chance of finding Akira; and if he doesn't…It certainly won't hurt to ask.

Maybe, Kouyo thinks, it is time that he re-enters the game.

* * *

He decides to use his mobile phone. The landline is still bugged and hasn't stopped ringing since they came back home in any case. His wife is answering the phone, asking their concerned friends to keep the line free, please, in case the kidnappers do call again. He thinks he heard the name Ashiwara at one point.

Just as he leaves the room to retire to the privacy of his garden, the doorbell rings. His wife calls from the kitchen that she is going to answer it. Kouyo tries not to get his hopes up. Most likely it's the press. Moments later, however, he hears a familiar voice. It seems like Ogata hasn't even bothered with the phone – or maybe he couldn't get through – and came to their home straight after hearing the news instead. Kouyo hesitates in the doorway – Ogata must want to talk to him – before silently leaving the house. Surely, his student will forgive him for not being a gracious host in this situation. Nodding towards the policewoman having a smoke outside, he heads over to the small alcove in the back of the garden.

He calls the directory inquiries first but there is no Hikaru Shindou listed. There are several Shindous but he doesn't know who is be related to the boy and the list is too long to try them all – this is Tokyo, after all. Kouyo tries to figure out another way to get his phone number but draws a blank. Sure, Shindou's number is in Akira's mobile phone directory, but it is broken. It was found smashed to pieces on the street a couple of blocks from his Go salon.

He could call the Go institute, but office hours are already over and it's unlikely that anyone but the caretakers would be there and they wouldn't know where to look for the address. One of the other young pros might have Shindou's number, but he doesn't know who the boy is friends with.

_Wait …Morishita. _

Hasn't the 9-dan mentioned that Shindou is his student?

_If Morishita doesn't have it, he'll at least know someone who does. _

He calls the directory inquiries again and is put through to the man. Morishita answers the phone only two rings later, surprise evident in his voice when he learns just who is calling him.

"Shindou's phone number? Why--?" He interrupts himself. In the background Kouyo hears the TV running. "I … no, I don't know. Waya might. I can give you his number."

Kouyo thanks him, then contacts Waya, who sounds even more surprised than Morishita but thankfully does have Shindou's number. The boy seems utterly confused by his request and Kouyo can't blame him.

He thanks Waya, hangs up, starts dialling Shindou's number.

"Do you think he knows anything?"

The voice startles him and he turns around. Ogata is leaning against a tree, cigarette in one hand and a lighter in the other. He sticks the cigarette in his mouth and cups his hands over the flame while lighting it.

Kouyo notices the cold wind for the first time, notices the goose bumps on his arms and his stiff fingers. Akira looked cold in the picture, he remembers and hopes that they have given him a blanket.

The picture… it's still inside his pocket. He has taken to carrying it around and staring at it. Wordlessly he pulls it out and hands it over to Ogata. It doesn't take long.

"That looks like…"

"Yes."

Ogata takes a long drag from his cigarette. "You think Shindou might have an idea why he reconstructed that game."

He nods and takes the picture back, putting it inside his pocket once more. The cigarette glows in the dark, while Ogata puffs away.

"Akiko said you got it the same day," he finally says, half-question, half-statement. Kouyo doesn't answer, because his student has that look on his face that he always gets when concentrating on an important hand, and it doesn't look like he is expecting an answer anyway.

"So, they took it pretty soon after taking him," he continues finally, speaking slowly, weighing each word. "He couldn't have had much time to set up the game then, which means that most likely it's not just a random reconstruction."

The cigarette flares up brighter again as Ogata takes another drag.

He hasn't thought about it that way, but it makes sense. Of course, it's all the more important now that he reaches Shindou.

"Excuse me, " Kouyo says and turns his attention back to the mobile phone. He dials Shindou's number from memory. Remembering numbers has never been a problem for him. He uses a special mnemonic technique and instead of trying to recall numbers, he imagines a game sequence. Some numbers are easy to learn that way, because they resemble common joseki and fuseki; others were harder because of their randomness. Shindou's is one of those, of course, but Shindou's game style is downright bizarre at times, so it actually fits.

The dial tone sounds once before the phone is picked up. He doesn't get the chance to say anything at first, however, because the woman who picks up the phone is speaking frantically.

"Hikaru? Hikaru, is that you? Where are you?"

"Mrs. Shindou," he interrupts her, "this is Kouyo Touya. I was wondering if I could speak with your son." Even if it doesn't seem like he is home.

"Oh," Mrs. Shindou says before apologising and telling him that Hikaru has just left ( _"ran out of the front door in the middle of the night, no explanation, I don't understand that boy" _). He leaves a message with her, then hangs up.

Ogata remains silent throughout, finishing his cigarette and lighting up another. Ashes fall from the tip, are picked up by the wind and blown away.

* * *

"He'd most likely play an ogeima here."

They have retreated to a quiet room inside the house to recreate the game on the photograph. He has stepped into his son's shoes while Ogata pretends to be Shindou. His student says that maybe the clue lies in which stone should be played next, but Kouyo knows he is just trying to distract him; or make him feel like he's doing _something_. Currently, they are in agreement about Akira's next hand, but there is some difficulty with Shindou. They both know his style enough to recognise it, but Shindou's eccentricity makes it hard to tell what he might have done next. And then there's the fact that Ogata still thinks that Shindou is the infamous 'sai'.

Truthfully, Kouyo isn't so sure about that himself, either. Their Go is similar and Shindou's game against him did feel the same as his net-game with 'sai' in retrospect; but both are dissimilar to the other games Kouyo knows of. The game in the photo certainly wasn't played by 'sai' either.

"No," he replies and pushes the stone to the left. "This hand is more likely."

Ogata lights another cigarette, contemplating the board. He has been chain-smoking ever since arriving.

"It doesn't spell out any words that way either."

Kouyo cracks a smile at that but doesn't quite know why; maybe because it's better than breaking down.

There's a knock at the closed screen door, more like a bump against the frame actually, and the sound of clinking like spoons against teacups. Ogata stands up to get it, opens the door and grunts.

"Speak of the devil," he mutters, shaking his head, and steps aside. "Well, come in."

Kouyo wonders if he has fallen asleep and is caught up in a dream when he sees Shindou entering, balancing – of all things – a tea tray.

"Hello," the boy says awkwardly, holding the tray like a shield. "Er…Mrs. Touya said to take this to you, because the phone rang. I mean, it rang and she couldn't take it herself, because she had to answer it. The phone, I mean." His words stutter to a halt and he thrusts the tray towards Kouyo, almost upsetting the teapot.

Ogata develops a sudden, violent cough.

Kouyo leans back, putting some distance between himself and the hot teapot.

"Put it on the table over there, please, Shindou; and take a seat." He points to a spot next to him.

As Shindou obeys, Kouyo takes the time to remove the two stones he and Ogata have added to the game. He can tell the exact moment that Shindou notices the board and the shape of the stones: his breath hitches and his eyes snap upwards towards Kouyo's face. He is clearly confused.

Good, Kouyo thinks. His reaction proves that the detective is wrong.

"Thank you for coming so quickly, Shindou," he says, ignoring the unasked question for the moment. The boy's expression turns from confused to downright perplexed.

"You received my message, didn't you?"

"Huh," Shindou replies, "what message?"

"The one I left with your mother twenty minutes ago. Isn't that why you are here?" Obviously it isn't.

"Um." Shindou shifts on the floor, scratching the back of his neck. "Actually, I … I just heard on the news and I came here right away." He turns his gaze towards the goban again, avoiding Kouyo's eyes. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to intrude. It's just… I heard and I came here. I didn't think. I, I…it's _Touya_." He flushes and Kouyo decides to take pity.

"It's fortunate that you came in any case, Shindou."

Shindou opens his mouth again, stops, and seemingly thinks over what he wants to say before he does speak.

"Why? Can I –" Even though he is talking to Kouyo, Shindou's eyes remain fixed on the goban. "Can I help?"

It's formulated like a question, but his inflection makes it sound like a statement.

_He knows – feels at least – that it's no coincidence that this game should be spread over the board here. Is that a good sign? I'll take it as a good sign. _

"Do you recognise this game?" Kouyo asks in return, which in itself is an answer.

"Yeah," Shindou replies and about three tons of weight suddenly lift from Kouyo's shoulders.

"How did it end," Ogata interrupts, pushing the goke towards the boy. Shindou looks at him strangely but doesn't say anything. He reaches for a black stone, places it. Kouyo nods to himself, notices Ogata doing the same. A white stone follows – _I was right _– and another black stone, until Shindou has recreated the whole game for them.

There are, of course, no words spelled out on the board.

"When did you play this?"

Shindou frowns. It's apparent that he is wondering about possible reasons for being asked such questions, but he keeps himself from asking.

For the time being.

"About two weeks ago," he answers, then corrects himself. "Two and a half."

"And did anything strange happen while you did?"

"Strange?"

Kouyo pulls out the picture again, holds it out again, and this time waits for _Shindou_ to react. He watches Shindou's face, sees __ and a deep, deep concentration, a focus inward, its intensity reminiscent of that which he shows when playing Go. Shindou is thinking _hard_.

Finally he raises his head, but his eyes are unfocussed, his mind elsewhere. "We played in my Go salon that day," he begins, then looks flustered again. "I mean, the one I always play in. Yours was closed that week because something was broken, I think." He looks towards Kouyo for confirmation and Kouyo nods because he remembers making the arrangements. The colour on the walls had been fading and the floor had been in need of a new carpet and, yes, about a fortnight ago his salon had reopened.

He motions for Shindou to continue.

"So… we played there and … there … there …" Shindou shifts, plays with the hem of his shirt, shifts some more. Kouyo doesn't need him to finish the sentence. It's clear from his expression, the apologetic tone … nothing happened that day. Nothing at all.

Eyes closed, mouth slightly parted, he starts to feel like he is suffocating. No air reaches his lungs, no matter how deeply he breathes in and there is a strange kind of noise, a buzzing in his ears, in his head. Over the noise and the pain and the sheer despair – __ – he hears soft murmuring, a teenager's voice, unsure of himself or of what he's saying – __ – and then a sharp interruption –

"Who is Kawai?"

"Huh? What? You don't think… that's ridiculous! Kawai wouldn't ever do that." _You idiot_. Kouyo hears the insult as clear as if it had been uttered, Shindou's tone portraying it so well; but it _doesn't matter._

_Nothing. _

"I'm talking about that other guy!"

And this is the point where his heart does stop beating for a second, skips, and his muscles tense to an unbearable degree, not _daring_ to –

"Look, I've only seen him a couple of times. The owner might know who he is, but anyway, that day he got into a fight with Kawai – Kawai's a real hothead but he's a _good_ person, took me to Innoshima and everything – and the owner threw them both out."

"What was the fight about?" Ogata's stare is frightful, but Shindou doesn't seem to notice. His eyes are unfocussed, his mind sorting through memories.

"Um, wait, I think … oh yeah. That guy was kind of leaning too close to the board – where Touya and I were playing – and Kawai was going on about how this would ruin my concentration and how he did it deliberately, so he'd win the bet. There was a bet, you see, about who'd win and Kawai betted on me and that other guy on Touya. And then one of the geezers said something about how that guy still owed him money and Kawai was all about how it didn't seem like he could pay up when I won and then it kinda got out of hand from there and the owner threw them out."

Shindou stops, an expression crossing his face, something indefinable, but –

"Actually, this," and he points at the board, "was the game we were playing then."

– but giving him such a feeling, he cannot describe. Hope, more than hope. He closes his eyes, swallows, sways, a rhythmic movement like _a cane bopping forward back forward back_, regular like clockwork. Or maybe he's just dizzy with … relief?

There is still hope, still a chance. There must be.

"We could call Kawai." Shindou's words call him back and he focuses his attention on him again. "He might know the name of the other guy."

"No," Kouyo says, because Shindou is young and this Kawai might seem nice but Kouyo has never met him and will not risk his son by relying on the judgement of a sixteen-year-old. Not when it comes to people, because at that age – Kouyo remembers – hardly anyone is experienced enough in judging someone's character.

Shindou looks at him, aghast.

"But –!"

"I will call the Go salon," Kouyo interrupts him. "The owner or one of his staff is more likely to know his name."

Shindou's eyes narrow, but he doesn't say anything. Kouyo glances at Ogata's wristwatch, noting the lateness of the hour and deciding yet again today that he would not care about politeness. He asks Shindou for the name of the owner but he only remembers the surname. And it's such a common one, too, that calling the directory won't help. He has no choice then, he will need to ask the detective. The police will be able to find out. This time, Kouyo resolves, this time he will make the man listen. Or he'll go directly to the chief of police.

There is a chance.

There is hope.

"Stay here." He rises quickly, hurries out of the room, down the corridor, towards the kitchen, where he hears both his wife's and the detective's voice.

"I want you to contact Yamamoto," he bites out as he passes the doorway. "He owns a Go salon. Find the taxi driver Kawai and another man he had an argument with two weeks ago."

The detective stares at him.

"Shindou recognized the game," Kouyo explains and his wife gives a small, startled gasp. The phone rings again but both he and Akiko ignore it. He glares at the detective, watches emotions run over his face, irritation, anger, resignation. Finally the man takes out his own mobile phone.

"Yamamoto, you said?"

* * *

"He works for the city," Kouyo says without preamble as he re-enters the room. "Sewerage maintenance and repair."

He glances at the goban in passing, heading towards the small table in the corner. Shindou and Ogata look up from the board between them. They are playing their sixth game today and so far Ogata has won all of them. He still looks incredibly frustrated.

"It must be him then," replies Shindou, hand clenching his fan. The boy has asked to stay the night and Kouyo allowed it. He clearly wanted to be there when new information came in and Kouyo could not think of a single reason why he shouldn't, especially since he might have – must have – provided them with a vital clue.

"Have they found out anything else?" Ogata asks and Kouyo shakes his head. The police are questioning the man but he refuses to speak according to the detective.

Kouyo pours himself a cup of tea and sits down in a chair. His wife keeps them plied with tea and biscuits and thus keeps herself busy and hopefully distracted. He wonders if it works but he doubts it. Still, it is something to do and he would like to _do_ something, too, to feel as if whatever he does is helping somehow, but he has yet again given the game over to the police, which was the right decision but doesn't do anything for his peace of mind or lack thereof.

Shindou places another stone. He is not playing his best, but neither is Ogata, who too has spent the night. Neither of the two looks like he has slept well and his student reeks of cigarette smoke.

Ogata answers the hand with a hane and Shindou grunts.

"I resign."

They clear the board and nigiri. For whatever reason, Shindou refuses to ask for a handicap and Ogata hasn't offered explicitly, though he has muttered something about not being drunk this time. Kouyo thinks he doesn't want to know. The game begins and the air is soon filled with the _pachi-pachi_ sounds of stones being laid. It's comforting in a way. If he closes his eyes he can almost pretend that it is Akira, whom Ogata is playing, instead of Shindou, and he feels himself drifting off to sleep.

He wakes some time later to the smell of food and perfume. Akiko is bowed over him, gently shaking his shoulder. The room is deserted otherwise. Kouyo doesn't feel hungry but he follows his wife into the dining room nevertheless. Shindou and Ogata are already there, waiting for him, and next to Ogata is Ashiwara, looking faintly apologetic. Kouyo greets him with a nod and apologises for his tardiness.

There is very little conversation during dinner. His wife makes some small talk with Ashiwara, speaking about his last game and the upcoming one the next day, against Ochi.

"I've never played him before," Ashiwara says. "But I heard that he's quite good."

"Yeah," Shindou agrees and drinks from his glass. "He was top of the insei class. And Touya tutored him."

It's the first time Kouyo hears of it.

"But he sometimes can't think outside the box," Shindou continues quickly, eyes flicking to Kouyo and his wife for a short moment, "so if you play a few unconventional hands that might throw him."

Kouyo wonders if Shindou realises that he has just given advice to someone from his rival study group. Probably not. Or maybe, like Kouyo and his students, he doesn't waste a thought on this supposed rivalry. Shindou, as far as Kouyo in aware, has only ever been interested in Akira as a rival.

Akira, whom everything reminds him of, starting with the lack of his presence and ending with Shindou's presence and Ogata's and Ashiwara's and with this conversation, in which Shindou mentions Akira. There would be no need to _mention_ him if he were here.

His stomach decides that it has had enough at this point. Kouyo stops eating and watches as a guilty look steals over Shindou's face. His chest feels tight again.

"Is the story about the bathroom true?" Ogata throws in suddenly, drawing attention to himself. Shindou looks relieved and grateful.

"Yes. No one knows what he does in there either," he replies and from there the conversation turns to quirks that various Go pros have developed.

After dinner they retire to the Go room again, Ashiwara with them this time. He doesn't stay long however and soon it is only the three of them once more and it feels so very familiar. Kouyo is sure that he does and does not like this routine. He feels… better having company other than the police and his wife; company that is neither so removed from the situation that they can not sympathise, nor so close to the breaking point themselves that he has to be unspeakably careful. Accordingly, Ogata's and Shindou's presence makes this situation more bearable. And yet. And yet, he would give anything if their presence had never been necessary in the first place. If this routine were not a routine at all.

_Pachi-pachi._

"You've spent a lot of time studying Shusaku."

Kouyo has wondered over the course of the last couple of days how long Ogata would be able to keep himself in check. Having Shindou here like this, playing with him, and not making even an oblique reference to 'sai' at all did not seem like something Ogata would be able to do.

Shindou doesn't answer aloud but places another stone, 16-15, completing Shusaku's famous fuseki. He's absently rubbing the fan with his thumb.

"Did you replay all his kifu?" Ogata doesn't give up.

Kouyo cannot tell whether Shindou's smile is sad or mocking. "You could say that," he replies and from the expression on his face Kouyo thinks he has just missed a joke. Ogata raises and eyebrow, waiting for a more elaborate answer. He doesn't receive it.

"Are you going to play or what?" Shindou demands, effectively closing the topic.

Ogata's next move almost leaves a dent in the board and the game becomes quite vicious. Eventually, Shindou resigns and they begin anew.

The next day is much the same, the games, meals, even Ashiwara returns in the afternoon. The only difference seems to lie in the fact that Ogata has a game and leaves sometime around noon. Kouyo excuses himself a little later, while Ashiwara is telling Shindou the story about Ogata's first pro game, which involved a pigeon and not enough time to change into a different suit. Kouyo has heard about it more times than he can count, but it is new to Shindou. He is fairly certain that Ogata will not appreciate the retelling. Instead of stopping Ashiwara, however, Kouyo leaves the room. Briefly, he considers going for a walk but decides against it. He wants to be near in case there is any news, so he enters the garden.

And begins to pace.

Kouyo is not really a violent man, at least he doesn't think he is, but now he is wondering if there is even the slightest chance that the detective would leave him alone with the suspect for a while. Just long enough to find out where Akira is. It isn't too much to ask, is it? The clock is ticking, after all, and the cold wind is blowing and he wants his son back, safe and sound.

He turns his back on the bamboo cane.

When the call comes late in the evening, Kouyo is drinking chamomile tea. His throat feels slightly sore and he should not have told Akiko, because she worries way too much over such trivialities.

There is news, the detective tells him, and it's good but it might not be exactly what he has hoped for. The man has confessed and has implicated someone else as the main instigator. The police have arrested that person but neither has said anything about where Akira is. Or whether he is still alive. The question hangs unspoken between the detective and Kouyo. He is grateful that the detective does not say it out loud. He thanks him for the call and continues to hope.

Ogata returns sometime later, wearing a different set of clothes. He doesn't say anything about the game and Kouyo doesn't mention it either. He thinks he knows how it went from the way Ogata is now positively slaughtering Ashiwara in the game they began shortly after his student's arrival; although … it might also have been due to the fact that Shindou asked Ogata whether he's wearing a different suit because of a pigeon.

* * *

There has been no news since late last night, when he was told that yes, in fact, Akira is still alive. Kouyo knees had been very weak then all of a sudden, and he might have fallen if he hadn't been sitting already. The receiver had slipped from his fingers in any case, landing with a crash on the floor. There is a crack in it now but it's still working and hence the lack of calls cannot be due to that. It is, however, due to the fact that the police and the kidnappers are locked in a stalemate, where neither is giving an inch. According to the detective, both men claim that Akira is still alive but will not remain so much longer if they are not released. There is no one else in on it and thus there is no one who could bring him water or food.

The kidnappers want to be set free and allowed to leave the country before they give up the location. Of course, the police tell them that if Akira dies, they will be charged with murder and will be sentenced to death instead of a simple prison sentence for kidnapping. It's a matter of who loses their nerve first. Kouyo does not care. If the men tell the police where his son is – fine. If the police release them and they learn of it then – also fine. As long as it's not too late.

_Please, don't let it be too late._

Kouyo rubs his eyes, tiredly. He is again staring at the bamboo cane. It is unmoving this time because the night before was colder than before and the water has frozen. Ogata is outside, sharing a smoke with the policewoman still stationed here. Shindou is taking a shower after his mother has brought him some clothes and toiletries this morning. Kouyo is vaguely aware that he has been neglecting himself – he cannot recall when he has last shaved – but the thought becomes quickly buried under others. His mind returns to Akira once more and to the cold and he hopes that Akira is warm wherever he is.

Three hours later, Kouyo asks Ogata to drive the car. The detective has called again, saying that one of the men has cracked and told them where Akira is. Kouyo wants to be there when they find him, to see for himself, but his hands are shaking and he doubts he could drive. Naturally, Shindou wants to come too and they all drive to the address the detective has given him. On the way, Kouyo fills them in on what the detective has said. It's not much and all it boils down to is that Akira has been held prisoner in an abandoned part of the sewage system.

"Bastards," Shindou says and glares at nothing in particular and Kouyo concurs but does not say so out loud.

It isn't much longer before they arrive at their destination, only ten minutes, but it feels like ten hours instead. Or maybe ten days, months. It feels that way. Shindou is the first out of the car but then seems to remember his manners and opens the door for Akiko. Kouyo is next and then Ogata, who has parked the car right under a "no parking" sign. They hurry across the street, over to where the detective stands next to an ambulance. Kouyo cannot tell from his expression if there is good news or bad news or any news at all. He wants to ask but feels like all air has left his lungs. The detective, fortunately, doesn't wait for a prompt.

"The team is only just entering," he says and nods towards the crowd of firemen, police officers and first-aid attendants a couple of paces away, who are surrounding, Kouyo assumes, a manhole. "It could take a while," he continues, "because they have to take the long way round. Some parts of the sewer system have been blocked up."

The waiting now seems infinitely worse than all the waiting he has ever done before in his life. Kouyo is tapping his fingers on his arm, not taking his eyes off of the group of people up ahead. Beside him Shindou is pacing, Ogata is smoking and his wife is talking to the detective even though he cannot tell her anything else. She is asking about other cases, similar ones, and how they ended. Kouyo tunes them out. Minutes later, Shindou bumps into him, but does not apologise nor even seem to notice. Kouyo follows his gaze, meeting the eyes of the detective.

"I just said that he has been found," the man states and Kouyo tenses so much that his back begins to hurt. "Your son is alive. They're about to bring him back up."

Kouyo's eyes snap back to the crowd of people and he takes a step towards them. Then another. His legs feel wooden as if he hadn't moved in years and by the time he arrives, people are shouting instructions at each other, and he glimpses a thin figure lifted onto a gurney. And then the gurney is pushed in his direction and he sees Akira, whose face is pale, and Akira sees him and smiles very slightly. The gurney stops and someone asks him to step out of the way but he doesn't; can't. First he has to… he has to… to believe that this is real, that this is Akira and that he is alive. Kouyo reaches out with one hand, touches his son's cheek, which is cold, too cold, but real.

"Akira."

Akira's lips move, they are cracked and blue and whatever words he wants to express seem to be stuck somehow.

Someone grabs his shoulder and pulls Kouyo out of the way, but Akira tries again, raises his voice, and it sounds hoarse but clear –

"Father."

– and it makes it so much more real.

Kouyo turns around, follows, keeping level with Akira's head. They arrive at the ambulance van and Akiko is there and Ogata and Shindou. Akira smiles at his mother and Ogata, then stares at Shindou.

"Took you long enough," his son rasps out, before the gurney is lifted and he is put into the van. Kouyo watches Shindou splutter, while he climbs in, lends a hand to his wife.

"Whaddaya mean, it took –" He is cut off by the closing of the doors. Several moments pass and then the engine starts and they are on the way to the hospital. Akiko is talking to Akira, while the paramedics do whatever needs to be done and block the view of his son. Instead Kouyo watches the IV bag swinging, the clear liquid inside sloshing because of the motions of the van. It empties too slowly for the human eye to see, dripping down the tube and into his son's blood stream. Kouyo doesn't care; he grabs Akira's hand, feels his son squeezing _his_ hand, and feels the weight finally lift from his shoulders.


End file.
